


T'hy'la Tribbles

by Firegirl210



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3392345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firegirl210/pseuds/Firegirl210
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Kirk/Spock drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Switching POV, established relationship, MindMeld

Disclaimer: Do I look like Gene Roddenberry to you?

* * *

It begins with the butterfly soft touch of fingers. The middle finger to the temple, just above the ridge of the eyebrow; the index against the crest of the cheekbone; the thumb pressed into the hollow of the cheek.

Then, from the darker of the pair, a gentle inquiry, “May I?”

And from the lighter, a confident suggestion, “Yes.”

.

His mind is open, and I close my eyes and lower my mental shields. I brush his consciousness tentatively, seeking repeated permission despite assurances on his part that I am in no way overstepping my boundaries. He desires this connection, this form of intimacy that he may not recognize the significance of, which I desire also.

Telepathic melding is not an experience comparable to any physical one. It feels like...floating, one’s metaphysical form extending outwards into the Outer, the empty space around us where our electrical and psychological qualities interact without our knowledge. Stretching, reaching, searching until the edges of our aura--a cloud, a tendril, perhaps a hand--comes into first contact with the other person.

With James Tiberius Kirk, this first contact shoots the blackness of the Outer through with sparks, stars bursting into existence in the dark. We bleed through the cracks of each other, rushing out into the space between us a if a dam had burst, and crashing together with the force of an exploding sun.

.

When I first close my eyes, nothing happens for a short while. I sneak a peek at the Vulcan across from me, but his eyes are closed and his face holds an intensely focused expression, so I retreat into the darkness with a soft sigh. Take this seriously, Jim, don’t mess it up, I chide to myself. Spock is trusting you, sharing himself with you.

Then I feel a sort of whisper, some inexplicable cross between a sound, a touch and a feeling of not being alone.

Spock? I think curiously, and suddenly my body is gone--or maybe I’m just separate from my body and it’s only my mind flying up, up, at the speed of sound until I come to some kind of gentle stop. I can’t call it space, because the constellations are all wrong for the sector of the galaxy in which we are currently flying and the stars don’t really look like stars at all. On a closer inspection, I realize they are a million faces glittering in the backdrop of this place where I have no body and no pain and nothing but feeling and thought. Some of them I recognize; others I do not. Many of these strangers are Vulcan, and as I gaze up into the dark I become gradually aware that I am definitely not alone here--wherever here is.

I do the equivalent of turning around, feeling sort of like a jellyfish, and am abruptly buffeted by a whirlwind of light and sound. Images and impressions and feelings rush by in a swift river that seems like it should have substance, and I am immersed in them with a startling completeness until there is no separating myself from the presence, and I panic at first, trying to back away.

Jim, please calm yourself. It is me, a voice whispers. It sounds just like Spock and reverberates through the space where we’ve come to. I realize suddenly that this cloud of thoughts and memories and feelings is Spock, broken down to the very basics and secrets that make him who he is. I am surrounded by him, but I can tell from his thoughts that come to me almost as easily as my own that he is also surrounded by me, and that there is no telling where one of us begins and the other ends.

.

Our thoughts flit by as we explore each other, tentatively revealing memories and feelings and opinions and so much more of ourselves than we have ever shared with another person. But as we do so, something amazing begins to happen.

This is revelation.

Age old pain of abandonment, ostracism, guilt, grief, rage, and hurt pours between us, but also the good things. All of our joy, relief, pride, friendship, contentment, victory and love is ours to share as well, and share we do for what feels like no more than minutes but could well be for an eternity. Perhaps the world has fallen away and everything we know is gone, the universe turned to dust, but here in this quiet solitude there is no one but us, and nothing but our discovery of the being across from us.

This is togetherness.

We can no longer tell where James T. Kirk begins and S’chn T’gai Spock ends, nor the opposite, and we don’t wish to make any distinction. We are one, in the most spiritual way possible, in a way that physical intimacy could never achieve.

This is peace.

Our souls intertwine, dancing with brilliant colors and thoughts and sounds and every moment we have had together and every moment that may still come.

This is happiness.

There is no shame in this place, and uninhibited we play like otters in the stream of our own consciousness, deep blue and gold swirling together.

This is joy, perfection in its most pure, basic form.

This is love.

 

 

 


	2. The Color of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LGBTQ+ History Month Rainbow Special

* * *

 

Disclaimer: You know the drill

* * *

 

It may have been the particular nature of the planet; the incredibly oxygen-rich atmosphere that induced near euphoria in some visitors; the exquisite flora and fauna that painted the landscape in impossible hues; the friendly locals who, after being freed from slavery beneath a race of conquerors, honestly wanted nothing more than to serve their every whim.

Whatever the reason, Spock had broken his long standing ‘No Shore Leave’ rule for once in his life and was currently strolling along a bright forest path with his Captain. The two spoke little, for very few words were needed; occasionally Jim would point out a particularly beautiful sight or Spock would give a miniature lecture on the nature of some physical feature, but for the most part they were silent.

The pair emerged into a high alpine meadow, a quiet grassy clearing dotted with mountain flowers. Kirk grinned and stretched out a hand. Spock allowed his Captain to draw him into the soft sunshine, and the golden man whirled around in a gleeful circle laughing and brilliant. Spock smiled gently, but was caught by surprise when Jim grabbed both his wrists and pulled him closer, sending them both toppling into the shifting grass.

They looked at each other, one laughing, the other smiling ever so slightly, surrounded by a green ocean and blanketed by a soft blue sky. Jim leaned forward, stealing a kiss from his T’hy’la; Spock brushed his fingers gently down the side of Jim’s sun-browned face.

The sun climbed through the azure sky slowly, shedding golden rays on the pair, but they felt no rush to return to the real world. They lay there in the meadow touching, listening, breathing together, minds drawing nearer with gentle familiarity until there was no distinction between them. They were of one mind, one body, one soul.

Jim has always been gold: golden hair, golden skin, golden smile. Even his eyes burned with a fiery glow. Here, in this place of no substance, his entire aura radiated with this warmth, and Spock let himself fall into the honey tinted embrace. He wound himself deeply into the essence of Jim’s being; everything was painted in formless color here. Jim was colored in the brilliant ice blue of courage, the hue of his eyes; the crimson of friendship and blood; the fiery glow of determination, a color which reminded Spock of the Vulcan sky; and an impossible shade of every color blended into one that painted Spock’s skin with the pure spirit of Jim’s affection. It warmed every corner of the Vulcan’s spirit, filling him with the knowledge that he was wanted desired adored needed loved.

Jim was wrapped inside Spock too. He encountered the sharp blue of the Vulcan’s intelligence, the pale green of his undying loyalty, the shimmering black of an insatiable curiosity and need for knowledge. And buried in the very core of Spock’s soul a small cloud of the purest white that washed over Jim with intense feeling. These were the Vulcan’s most private, treasured emotions, burning Jim’s soul with their power. Brother best friend lover soulmate bonded T’hy’la.

They parted grudgingly, reemerging in the physical world a bit disoriented to find it was raining. The two ran hand in hand for the trees, shaking clear water from their hair and joking about their misfortune. Suddenly Jim spotted something over the ridge which plunged the forest into a ravine ahead. He turned Spock around, pointing to the heavens.

The most impossibly brilliant rainbow soared across the sky through the gap in the trees, glittering a hundred different colors. That was the color of Jim’s love for Spock; every imaginable shade and hue, bright and bold for the world to see. But it was Spock’s love too, every shade combined and kept a beautiful secret, hidden behind the soft white of pure light.

Jim pulled his soulmate close, and Spock cradled his lover’s face in one pale hand. No kiss was ever more pure, more emotionally poignant, more beautiful than that kiss shared by two males, one human, the other alien, on a foreign world beneath a gentle rain. 


	3. Since You're Playing This Tape, We'll Assume I'm Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's farewell tape to Spock and Bones has a second side. What does it say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set 3.09 the Tholian Web, Bones POV

* * *

 

Disclaimer: They're not mine. If they were, I'd honestly have a hard time making them any gayer. But I do my best.

* * *

 

 

As the First Officer, the duty to make Captain Class decisions often falls on Spock’s shoulders. Jim puts himself in all kinds of ridiculous situations, and leaves the Vulcan in charge--usually a fine idea in the short term. But not this time.

This time, Jim may or may not be dead, we’re trapped in a dangerous sector of space which is driving the crew slowly mad and we’re being fenced in by some goddamned alien deathtrap we’re calling the Tholian Web. We need a Captain to get us out of this; we need Jim.

And instead we have an emotionless Vulcan at the helm who, despite his rigid claims that he sticks to logic, has already endangered the Enterprise unnecessarily because of his fool undying loyalty to Jim. As the Chief Medical Officer, I’m trying to do much more than my Job should have ever required of me.

“The one thing that would have given his death meaning is the safety of the Enterprise. Now you've made that impossible, Mister Spock.”

He knows I’m blaming him. It’s wrong and I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve lost my best friend and I’m angry and hurt. I just can’t understand why Spock insisted we linger here, and now we’re dead in the water with guns aimed our way.

“We came here for a specific purpose, Doctor,” he reminds me, turning away, and I snap the case holding Jim’s medal of valor closed sharply.

“Maybe not the same one! I...really came here to find out why you stayed and fought,” I admit, and he faces me, cool and collected as always.

“The Captain would have remained to recover a member of the crew at the risk of his life or even the ship,” Spock reminds me, logically of course, and I bristle.

“Yes, he would, Mister Spock, but you didn't have that decision to make. What would you gain by fighting the Tholians? You could have assured yourself of a captaincy by leaving the area. But you chose to stay. Why?”

He pauses; I know why, and he knows I know why, but I’m being petty, trying to force him into saying it, into admitting an emotional reaction. He stayed because he would always stay, we both would, to the ends of time and space if there was a chance he could recover Jim alive.

“ I need not explain my rationale to you or any other member of this crew. There is a margin of variation in any experiment. While there was a chance, I was bound legally and morally to ascertain the Captain's status.”

I realize he’s saying he stayed for Jim, in his own confounded way. “You mean...to be sure if he was dead.” We stare at one another silently for a moment before my anger rares up again, striking at him blindly like a wounded animal.

“Well, you made certain of that.”

“That is enough Doctor,” he interrupts almost sharply, his equivalent of shutting me down violently, and stares coldly at me through those unfeeling but uncomfortably expressive eyes. “We both have more important things to do.”

“Yes I have something to do,” I reply quickly, and he turns in his chair--Jim’s chair--and looks up at me in surprise. “ If this crew is to survive, I have to find an antidote to this space you've locked us into,” I accuse, and he tenses almost imperceptibly.

“You will return to your duty as soon as we've discharged our responsibilities here,” he orders, and I feel my hackles rise at the commanding tone in his voice. He settles so easily into Jim’s place, it drives me crazy.

“ There's no hurry, Mister Spock. The antidote probably doesn't concern you. Vulcans are probably immune, so just take your time,” I snap, and he turns to the safe beneath Jim’s desk and enters a combination. Spock knows it by heart...I don’t know that combination. That realization strikes me more bitterly than it should have. I’m his best friend, true, but I’m not his first officer; not his number one.

“I must admit I don't understand you, Spock, but I just can't believe that you would want Jim's command. You must know that if you get us out of this situation, they'll pin a medal on your chest and give you command of the Enterprise.”

Why am I saying these things? Spock has no desire to command a starship; he’s made that clear on several occasions. But the ever so slight shocked widening of his eyes gives me some sick satisfaction.

“Doctor, I am in command of the Enterprise,” he reprimands sternly, and I catch a furious breath, staring him down.

“I would like to remedy that situation.”

This is how we function; we spit poison at each other and growl and show our teeth because we’re both hurt, and we just can’t allow ourselves to show weakness to the other. Spock puts a bright yellow disc into the slot on the monitor before standing, tipping the balance of power in his favor with his superior height.

“If you believe I have acted irregularly, then relieve me of duty. That is your prerogative as medical officer of this ship.”

There is an inherent ‘I dare you’ in his tone, and I fold my hands behind my back stiffly, refusing to rise to the bait. I’m not the only one who tries to get emotional responses from him; it’s a two way street.

“Bones, Spock.”

We both turn towards the monitor at the sound of our names, and I feel my heart clench up. That’s Jim on the screen, talking to a camera with a serious expression.

“Since you are playing this tape, we will assume that I am dead, that the tactical situation is critical, and both of you are locked in mortal combat,” he explains, and we exchange the tiniest of glances. He had predicted the situation well.

“It means, Spock, that you have control of the ship and are probably making the most difficult decisions of your career. I can offer only one small piece of advice, for whatever it's worth. Use every scrap of knowledge and logic you have to save the ship. But temper your judgment with intuitive insight.”

He is gazing stoically at the screen, of course, but I can see it in the rigidity of his back, the tightness of his clenched hands, the slightest shimmer in his eyes; he’s in pain. Jim believes in him, he always has for whatever reason, and he used his last words to tell Spock that.

“I believe you have those qualities, but if you can't find them in yourself, seek out McCoy.”

He glances at me, and I feel surprised and almost embarrassed. Me?

“Ask his advice. And if you find it sound, take it.” That was an order, and I look away from Jim’s face to avoid the tears I can feel burning in my eyes. We can’t be a team Jim, we’ll just squabble and fight and bring the whole damn ship down around our heads!

“Bones, you've heard what I've just told Spock. Help him if you can. But remember he is the Captain. His decisions must be followed without question. You might find that he is capable of human insight and human error. They are most difficult to defend, but you will find that he is deserving of the same loyalty and confidence each of you have given me.”

Now he’s entrusting me to keep his first in check, to balance him out and to take care of him. What can I say to that? How could I justify my comments earlier? I go out of my way to antagonize Jim’s...I stop that train of thought before I can get into it and turn back to the screen to see Jim’s sunbrowned face and kind eyes wishing us goodbye.

“Take care.”

And then the screen goes dark.

Spock removes the disc gingerly, almost reverently, placing it back in its leather satchel, and I clear my throat awkwardly.

“Spock, I, ah...I'm sorry,” I apologize softly, and he raises his eyes to gaze blankly at the opposite wall. I can see him reigning in grief. God, I’m such an idiot; of course he feels. Sometimes I think he might even feel more deeply than I can imagine.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” I urge, handing him back Jim’s medal, and he sighs shortly, an irritated sound. He won’t look at me.

“What would you have me say, Doctor?”

What would you have me say? I guess I don’t have an answer for that, and I fold my arms and look away.

He is called to the bridge, and as he strides out I linger for a while in Jim’s quarters. The walls are familiar, I’ve been here often enough, and I sit down wearily in his chair.

“Oh Jim. Jim you son of a bitch,” I mutter, closing my eyes. The chair back hits several of the controls on the safe, and it slides open, startling me into turning around. The Vulcan son of a gun must not have closed it completely. In a bout of sentimentality, I draw the golden disc out of its case, running my thumb over the edges thoughtfully.

“You’ve got a hell of a lot more faith in us than we have, Jim,” I mutter, and slip the device back into the slot to hear his voice tell me what to do. We were lost without Jim.

“Spock.”

I jerk in surprise. The message is different; I must have placed the disc in the opposite direction, it’s a double coded tape. Jim’s face is so sad and almost tender, I feel a little guilty watching it. It’s meant for Spock, not me.*

“If I’m really gone...I can only imagine that you and Bones tried everything in your power to save me. Don’t blame yourself. Don’t let Bones blame himself--or you--either. It’s not through any failing of yours. I’ve...I’ve always known I would die alone.”

I close my eyes, fists clenching. God damn him, he would get himself killed the moment we turned our backs.

“I can only apologize for leaving you this way, Spock. At the time this was recorded...things between us were a bit complicated. I suppose I should apologize for that too. We humans tend to cause turmoil and just can’t help but act irrational and emotional. I know you’ve always found that frustrating.”

I definitely feel a little guilty now. These are Jim’s words, Jim’s last words for Spock, not for me. It’s private, personal. But I can’t stop listening. Maybe it’s out of spite, some urge to get back at the hobgoblin. God knows I’m a spiteful son of a bitch.

“Although you’d probably reprimand me for being sentimental...I’m sure I’ll miss you wherever I’m going. And Spock...since I was too foolish, too cowardly to say it when I was alive...I love you, T’hy’la. Goodbye.”

The screen falls dark and I stand up sharply. God damn him and his awful taste in love! Doesn’t he know that Spock, that Vulcans...I laugh bitterly. Of course he knows.

I put the disc back and venture outside into the hall, nearly toppling over Lieutenant Uhura as she came rushing out of her room, and I put Jim’s last confession out of my mind for the time being.

~

Jim spins in his chair to face me, his Chief Medical Officer and his First, smiling. It’s so good to see that smile again.

“How did you two get along without me?” he asks, and I respond immediately, somewhat sarcastically.

“Oh, we managed. Mister Spock gave the orders, and I found the answers,” I said smugly, and Jim nods, accepting that.

“Good. No...problems between you?” He asks because he knows how Spock and I get, and Spock replies as I gaze tight-lipped at the wall.

“None worth reporting, Captain,” He assures, and I see Jim’s sensors go up. That was a typical Spock evasion of answering the question.

“Try me.”

Spock contemplates his answer, humming thoughtfully. “Only such minor disturbances as are inevitable when humans are involved,” he decides, and Jim tenses almost defensively.

“Which humans, Mister Spock?” he urges, and I quickly step in. Spock never heard his last message, he doesn’t know about his apology or his confession. I feel somewhat responsible for keeping this secret that way.

“He means when humans become involved with Vulcans, Jim,” I translate, and Spock looks at me in surprise, but makes no comment on the matter. Jim relaxes minimally.

“Ah, yes. I understand. Well, I hope my last orders were helpful in solving any problems that you don't feel worth reporting.”

We exchange a silent glance, and I give the tiniest shake of my head. We will not speak of his final words to anyone.

“Orders, Captain?” he feigns innocence, and I jump on the bandwagon quickly.

“What orders are you referring to, Jim?”

Confusion clouds Jim’s face, and he elaborates. “My last orders. The last orders that I left for both of you. The last taped orders.”

I compound upon my innocence. “Oh, those orders. Well, there wasn't time. We never had a chance to listen to them,” I lie, and Spock agrees.

“No. You see, the crisis was upon us, and then passed so quickly, Captain, that we n...never...” he trails off, and I curse his blasted Vulcan honesty. But Jim seems to buy it, more or less, or at least agrees to go along with our charade, and smiles.

“Good. Good. Well, I hope we won't have similar opportunities to test those orders which you never heard.”

And that, hopefully, is the last we’ll ever hear of Jim’s last orders. Although as I head to the turbolift to make my way back to Sickbay where I belong, I see the Captain cast a glance at Spock, and I feel quite sure that he won’t wait until he’s dead to make things right between them now.

 

 


	4. Spock's Little Blue Cap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really like Spock in little hats. So does Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode referenced: 2.25 Bread and Circuses

* * *

Disclaimer: I didn't write any of the Original Star Trek, so they're probably not mine.

* * *

 

 

“Now this society is fairly primitive tech-wise; medieval class weaponry, live in small villages, and they still keep slaves. They’ve never seen a Vulcan before, so Spock, you’ll need to cover those ears--they’re also pretty innocent and strictly religious, so Bones...just don’t talk at all.”

The landing party comprised of Spock, Bones, Ensign Ball and I approached the replicator room where the computer would cook up some appropriate attire for our beam down.

Bones came out looking dour as usual, swathed in a simple grey tunic that came to his bare knees topping some Roman-esque sandals. I grinned at my longtime best friend, tugging on one short sleeve as Spock followed Ensign Ball into the room for their disguises.

Bones swatted at my hand, glowering. “What are you smiling at?” he growled, and I shrugged innocently. Definitely not his scrawny chicken legs.

The door swooshed open and I turned around to take my own turn when the sight I was met with floored me unexpectedly, rendering me momentarily speechless.

Spock’s tunic was similar in style to McCoy’s, although his was equipped with long sleeves and some sort of leggings, but my gaze zeroed in on what was on his head.

A small white knit cap fit snugly over his cranium, hiding the tips of his ears, and only the very fringes of his sleek stark hair peeked out.

It was the most unbelievably adorable thing I had ever seen.

“Captain?” he popped an eyebrow in question, and I felt my face warm when I realized I was staring in stupid silence. I coughed to cover up my momentary insanity, but the damage had been done. Ensign Ball was looking anywhere but at me or Spock, his cheeks slightly red with embarrassment, and Bones rolled his eyes blatantly, muttering under his breath about ‘idiot Jim’ and ‘goddamn schoolboy crush.’ Spock just folded his arms behind his back, meeting my gaze nothing if not calmly.

I ignored them all, sweeping into the replicator room for my costume, but my mind was otherwise occupied; I had to figure out how to get Spock to wear that little cap more often.

 

 

 


	5. Oh Captain, My Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technically set during Star Trek 7: Generations. Spock feels the breaking of the Lifebond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Robin Williams. RIP Oh Captain, My Captain.

* * *

Disclaimer: Wasn't born when they were made, can't logically own them

* * *

 

The first time, I should have been there. It was a simple send-off; the Enterprise B’s maiden voyage. I had been sent on my first mission as Federation Ambassador to Vulcan, and of course you told me not to fret. No chance of danger.

I should have known.

I felt it when you died. Across thousands of light years of empty space and empty worlds the destruction of our bond reverberated, shaking the planets and rattling the stars. Your consciousness was torn from mine with the force of a dying sun and I fell to my knees where I stood and wept. I wept as I would for no one else ever again; openly and with no thought spared for shame. For what shame is there in honesty? Honest, bone-wrenching grief is the most difficult kind to condescend.

I should have known better than to let you go alone. That decision quite possibly cost you, my Captain, your life. Oh Captain, my Captain...I have failed you. I am so sorry.

So for eighty years I lived on, putting my world back together and throwing myself into my work. We saved planets, lives, civilizations--an attempt to make up for my failure to save you, perhaps. Doctor McCoy and Uhura seemed to think so, when they were alive. But they began to die, my human friends, falling victim to that most patient of all enemies; Time.

Montgomery Scott, Leonard McCoy. Hikaru Sulu, Pavel Chekov, Nyota Uhura. They fell away into that all consuming darkness one by one until only I, S’chn T’gai Spock, remained.

And remain I did. I remained until that fateful day when I felt your presence, ever so faintly, as if the last eighty years had never happened and you were alive and well. As if you had simply been hidden from me. I felt the tug of your essence on the corners of my mind, and looked to the sky in wonder.

How could you be alive? After all this time?

Whatever the nature of the miracle--and although I do not believe in such things, what else could it be called?--it was real. I sent out communications immediately to any and all channels who could give me information on your whereabouts. I would find you, no matter what distant reaches of the Universe I had to traverse to do so.

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, that flicker of contact for which I had so desperately yearned for so long vanished. Like a candle flame your existence in my world was verified and retracted by the ever fickle hand of fate. Another phenomenon in which I do not hold faith and yet am often forced to fall back on.

And what other name could I give to the black hole at the center of the Romulan Sun that transported Nero back dozens of decades to the exact moment of your birth?

Imagine my unending surprise to be thrown back through the eons of time and space only to cross paths with a younger, wilder, and very lost James Tiberius Kirk.

Although I do not believe in Destiny, I may be developing some form of Deism. Perhaps whatever God you pray to has taken pity on my broken soul and given me this chance to save you.

No...not save you. You’ve always been perfectly adept at doing that for yourself. Perhaps to guide you. Only my younger self can do this, protect you from that greatest enemy.

He will save you from yourself, but only if you act in kind.

I will watch you from a distance. This could, if one believes in such notions as Purgatory, be my personal penance for my deeds. I will wait until the darkness claims me too, and then oh Captain, my Captain, we will be together once more.

 

 

 


	6. Enough is Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock POV, set during Into Darkness

I am not an emotional being. That is the basis of the philosophy which governs my life and action; control, suppression, intellect over impulse. To give in to anger is to be overcome by my people’s former barbarism. To give in is to lose everything I am.

But this is too much.

“The ship?”

The voice comes out strained, weak. He is trying to be strong. I feel my jaw clench--if Jim can be strong in this moment then Gods dammit so can I.

“Out of danger,” I reply, waves of emotion crashing and raging against the barrier which I have worked so diligently to construct.

The thin barrier separating us might as well be a thousand miles thick, and his blue eyes glisten with fear. I cannot help him, nor can I take his place.  
“I’m scared, Spock.”

Another shard of ice hot emotion slices through the shields of my composure. I have never seen my Captain afraid. That he is admitting such weakness would be an expression of the utmost trust in my culture, in most cultures.

“Help me not to be.”

And he needs me. This elicits a different streak of traitorous sentiment, the plea in my dying Captain’s voice causing fear and anger and sorrow and desperation to rear up within me, a veritable cocktail of feelings that sets my judgement--and sanity--dangerously on edge. Now he is gazing up into the dark eyes of a Vulcan, breath fogging the glass as fear wells up in the icy blue depths of his own. I can only wonder if he finds the comfort he desires there.

“How do you choose not to feel?” he implores, and I swallow hard, realizing with sudden clarity that I am absolutely powerless to help my captain. My friend.

“I do not know,” I admit, and feel the hot burn of impending tears stinging my eyes. It is absolutely shameful for a Vulcan to cry--and right now I cannot care any less. My Captain is dying; I can feel ashamed of this emotional display later. If there is a later.

“Right now I am failing.”

This admission is pulled from my lips before I realize what I am saying, and Jim draws another painful breath, the radiation in his skin granting him a nearly Vulcan complexion. Strange...even in death he is noble, stubborn, handsome, so very human in every way and so much more.

“I wanted you to know...why I couldn’t let you die...why I went back for you...” he gasps, and I move closer instinctively, wishing for him to cease his struggling and lie still, to ease his pain.

“Because you are my friend.”

Jim coughs, his forehead pressed against the glass that had saved the ship and sealed his fate. His hand moves painfully, slowly, and presses against the glass. One last goodbye, a final plea. Take care of them, Spock. They’re in your hands now.

I reciprocate the motion, my palm just centimeters from Jim’s, fingers spread in that Vulcan salute of respect and camaraderie. Live Long and Prosper. It is a useless gesture, and I know this. And yet I do it anyway, because I feel it is necessary. A purely emotional response.

And then James Kirk dies. Inches away from me, so close I can almost feel the radiation heat rising from his skin, close enough to watch the light fade from his eyes.

The turmoil swells violently in my chest, a single burning tear tracking down my cheek. Rage and disbelief and sorrow and loss and a staggering amount of grief hits me like a rampaging Sehlat. I have lost too much. Too fucking much. This is the final straw; enough pain, enough death, enough sorrow and anger and fatal emotion.

“KHAAAAAN!”

Enough is enough.

 

 


	7. T'hy'la

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because 'brother, lover, best friend, soul mate' is a *totally* platonic signifier.

“Full speed ahead, steady as she goes then crew.”

Jim smiled, warm and bright but with just enough softness that Spock knew inherently it was meant for his benefit alone. Another mission complete, the Enterprise safe, the time had come to relax for a few shifts before the next catastrophe struck.

Jim directs many such expressions of affection towards the Vulcan on the bridge, in the hallway, across the room on the rare occasions when their paths crossed in the mess hall...quite often. In fact, the gestures had become so commonplace in their time together--nearly five years now--that they no longer inconvenienced the Vulcan as distractions.

He found pleasure in their nature, as they were an indication of the Captain’s preference for his company over that of nearly any other member of the crew. They served as a source of private pride for him, although he would never admit to such emotion aloud.

Spock tipped his head slightly towards the Captain in reply, reciprocating in his own way, and Jim’s eyes glittered with something akin to triumph. Spock wondered sometimes if the human’s solitary goal with his attention was reciprocation. He did enjoy drawing emotional responses from his first officer, and had a habit of vying for Spock’s attention with all sorts of small actions and gestures, but not with the usual intention of a performance. Although Jim enjoyed being the center of attention in any setting, he seemed quite taken with the challenge posed by attempting to elicit some kind of positive response from his Vulcan Officer.

It was a game they played, a sort of dance, pushing to see how far they could go, to see more and more of one another. Kirk would bestow trusting smiles, lingering touches, laughter and acceptance on Spock, who would respond with a reciprocal nod, feather light brush of fingertips, teasing eyebrow quirk or the briefest hint of a smile in his eyes and around the corners of his lips.

If asked, Spock would most likely have been unable to identify the specific turning points in his relationship with James T. Kirk. When did they become friends? Animosity turned into begrudging respect which blossomed into something much more beautiful, the closest of friends, brothers even.

No...not friends any longer. Something much deeper and considerably more profound had grown in the static space between them, a sort of symbiosis which dictated they never remain apart for very long. Brotherly affection did not account for the uncanny ability they possessed for knowing exactly what the other was feeling, thinking or saying without explanation. Tighter than friends, closer than brothers, so...what?

“So what’s your boyfriend been up to, Yeoman?” Kirk teased his young assistant, who flushed and stammered out an answer about the young ensign she was seeing.

Spock considered this very human term of endearment. Boyfriend: a regular male companion with whom one has a romantic or sexual relationship. That did not fit precisely either. True, they engaged in many of the conventionally romantic actions a couple would; they spent much time together, some in silence, some in activity and quite a lot in the companionable intensity of commanding a Starship; they talked about things that mattered and things that didn’t, private words that could never be spoken to anyone and of the deepest intellectual and emotional topics.

They touched too, of course. Innocent brushes and chaste embraces; stolen kisses and the touch of two fingers behind chair backs and over panels; the occasional fiery nights of touch and taste and primal desire for one another.

But ‘boyfriend’ did not capture the real meanings of their feeling. It suggested a casual couple, an experimental relationship. Partner? Too impersonal, and it had a connotation of a working environment. Mate and Spouse held other issues, including the lack of any formal ceremonial tie between the two. Lover? Perhaps, but such a word indicated an overtly physical relationship, which theirs was not.

“Something on your mind Spock?”

The familiar voice startled Spock from his reverie, and he glanced up to see the blue eyes of his Captain sparkling with mirth as he caught his First Officer in an uncharacteristic moment of absent mindedness. The Vulcan’s ears darkened slightly, and he offered a single raised eyebrow of innocence.

“Of course Captain; I am certain to have a minimum of fifteen different ideas which require my attention at any one time,” he replied easily, and Jim rewarded his quick wit with a bright burst of laughter.

“Well our shift just ended. Would you like to join me in my quarters for a rematch? I believe the score still rests 124 to 378,” he pointed out, and the two stood in synch, no further pressing needed. Chess could draw both of them off the bridge in the blink of an eye.

They strode down the hall side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing, exchanging few words because few were needed. This companionship...it was more than Spock had ever dared to hope for a beyond his imagination before he met this strange, incredible man, and feeling sentimental he turned to his Captain as they stopped before his door.

“T’hy’la,” he uttered, and Jim turned with inquisitive eyes.

“Tuh-high...what Mr. Spock?” he clarified, and Spock’s eyes softened surprisingly as he took a slow step closer to his Captain. Jim raised a hand, and Spock met his extended two fingers gently, his long neck curving as the Human came to rest chest-to-chest with the Vulcan.

“T’hy’la,” Spock murmured, curling his fingers around Jim’s, and the Captain looked up into his dark eyes thoughtfully, waiting for him to elaborate. He knew he would.

“It is a word in my language which I believe more accurately describes our relationship than any word in yours,” he explained, and Jim nodded, brushing his thumb down the back of Spock’s fingers tenderly.

“And what is the translation of this magic word?” he queried, eyes gentle and lacking their usual jest. Spock graced him with the ghost of a smile.

“Closest friend, brother, lover...soul mate,” he added as an afterthought, but it was quite fitting as well, and Jim looked momentarily stunned. He stepped slightly away from their contact, breaking their link. After a few minutes of silence, he raised a hand to brush the backs of his fingers against Spock’s brow. He had learned these Vulcan expressions of affection quickly and taken to them with a fervor.

“All those things in one word?” he asked, a bit of his joviality springing back into his eyes. Spock nodded, nervous that he could not feel what Kirk was feeling through their touch. That wandering hand found the back of Spock’s neck and he was suddenly jerked forward into a burning kiss.

“T’hy’la was it?” Kirk rasped after a moment of very intense human affection, and Spock rested his forehead against Jim’s and nodded, letting the things he felt but could not allow himself to speak flow between them.

You are my T’hy’la, my everything, my soul and my mind and my heart. I would be lost without you.

And for Jim, it was the same, in fewer words.

I love you.

 

 


	8. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because there is plenty of canonical research suggesting that the hands are an erogenous zone and nothing you say will convince me otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kirk POV

“Mr. Spock, would you mind transferring these files to engineering?”

I handed off the PADD with the latest updates to my First Officer/Sort of Boyfriend/Not-so-secret object of my affection, fingers brushing against his briefly. I felt a kind of buzz of energy, like he had been building up static electricity, and it startled me.

Spock jerked back from the contact as if it had burned him, nearly dropping the PADD in his haste to get away from me. I stepped back to give him some space, but he made no comment or gave any indication that he had reacted at all to my touch.

Had it been involuntary then? Interesting.

~

“Knight to E7.”

I set my white knight up a level, intercepting an attack from Spock’s pawn. It was a trap, unfortunately, and his rook cornered my queen between his bishop and a pawn. I cursed, trying to save my King, but he had me. I fell back in my chair, flicking my King onto his side in defeat.

“You’re really getting better, Spock. At this rate you’ll even out the score in...127 games?”

He cocked an eyebrow, a slight glimmer of victory in his eyes. God I loved that glimmer.

“I believe I will be eternally one step behind you Jim,” he replied, but had already begun resetting the pieces for another game. I liked this cocky Spock, and set about helping to rearrange the set.

We reached for the fallen white King at the same time, fingers crashing together. His eyes flashed up to mine, and I saw something unsettling in their dark depths.

Uncertainty, embarrassment, surprise...and the unmistakable dilated pupils of desire.

He removed his hand, regaining his composure with ease, but the memory of Spock’s eyes stayed with me.

~

“I thought you said the natives were friendly!”

I skidded around a rocky outcropping, wood and crude bronze spears clattering off the canyon around us. Just because they were primitive didn’t mean they couldn’t kill you just as dead as a highly advanced weapon.

“Apparently I made a slight error in my earlier assessment,” Spock replied, racing along at my side with no apparent concern for the furious shrieking indigenous horde hot on our heels. I refrained from pointing out that he was a master of understatement and vaulted a boulder; I would have fallen if not for his lightning quick arm that shot out, catching my collar and practically throwing me back to my feet.

His eyes widened in alarm as he noticed the dropping off of the canyon in front of us, and I gauged the distance of the chasm in front of us with significantly less dread. He stared at me with the Vulcan impression of terror.

“Jim, you will not make it,” he informed me, and I estimated a leap of 8-10 feet.

“We’ll make it,” I assured him, altering course to head straight for it. His state of alarm deepened, and he gripped my arm as we ran.

“Jim, you cannot jump a sufficient distance to carry you over the chasm--”

“JUMP!”

I hurtled through the air, Spock’s shadow sailing past to land safely on the side, but my Vulcan was very rarely wrong, and I fell just short of the cliff, sliding and scraping my way to a shaky halt on a ledge about five feet from the top.

“Jim!” I looked up to see Spock leaning over the edge, hand outstretched. I clasped it, scrabbling for a hold as we heaved together, and he finally dragged me over the rim and behind a rock formation to take cover from the rain of spears from the locals.

I gasped raggedly in pain when he knelt to inspect my road rash, and when he looked up his eyes flashed furiously.

“I told you you could not make it,” he snapped, and I smiled weakly.

“I knew you’d catch me,” I teased, taking his hand to move it away from my leg, and he stiffened, already dark eyes catching mine with an unsettling fire. Didn’t I read somewhere that extreme stress turns Vulcans on?

He drew his hand away, and I decided that there was definitely some sort of connection between hands and arousal in Vulcans.

And I began to form a plan.

~

I called it, “Get Spock to sleep with me Plan F.” I chose that name because, well...plans A through E had already failed. A had consisted of mostly just trying to sweet talk him into bed; he hadn’t batted so much as an eyelash. Plan B went a more traditional route with a date, flashy show, real romantic and all the jazz--Spock had seemed offended by my treating him like a woman and had not spoken to me for several days afterwards.

Plan C involved a lot of factual arguments and reasons that he should sleep with me. Logically, he should have been near caving in to the stunning amounts of my charm. In fact, Plan C was still in effect and I had to believe I was wearing him down.

Plan D...well, let’s just say that Vulcans really don’t appreciate finding their significant other lying naked in their quarters after misusing the Captain Override Codes. I was still in quite a bit of trouble for that fiasco, and Plan E--make-up sex--was proving to be a giant disappointment.

Of course, I understood that sex was a really big deal for Vulcans and not to be taken lightly--but I really was putting a lot of effort into the whole monogamy thing and it was slowly killing me.

Thus, the letter had moved on to F--figure out what the deal was with Spock’s hands and potentially score some bedding points in the process.

~

“Mr. Spock, please report to the Captain’s quarters at 1800 this evening to have your ass thoroughly whooped in Chess,” I called through the conn, and there was only silence in reply. I frowned--he normally at least made some sort of snide comment about how he was currently having a winning streak, or pointed out that I was misusing a Captain’s order, or perhaps even that ‘whoop’ was being improperly used in my sentence.

When none of those things occurred, I began to get a bit suspicious. I conned him twice more and when neither one was met with reply, I dropped everything and forged my way across D deck to the First Officer’s Quarters.

“Spock, are you here?” I inquired at the door, pressing the chime for entry. No reply. I stepped up to the computer console on the wall, pressing my access code in quickly.

“Computer, search Enterprise for Science Officer Spock,” I ordered, and after a brief instant the Computer replied, “Science Officer Spock is in his quarters.”

Something was definitely up. I moved back to the door and chimed once more to be certain before tapping in the Captain’s Override code. The door whooshed open and I stepped inside the veritable oven of the Vulcan’s quarters. Inside was dark, and the scent of burning candles wafted over me.

“Spock?” I ventured, moving further in, and his voice spoke up suddenly from the depths of his cabin.

“Captain. You should not be here.”

I turned to follow the sound and found him sitting in the corner on the floor, legs crossed, eyes closed and hands upturned on his knees. He was meditating.

“Is everything alright, Spock?” I asked, and he drew a tight breath.

“It is not. But I must deal with it alone.” his tone was clipped, sharp and much more hostile than I had ever heard it before, and I frowned.

“There’s nothing I can do for you?” I urged, and his hands tightened where they rested on his knees.

“...I would ask that, if no other missions require our presence, we set a course for New Vulcan,” he said slowly, as if the words were difficult to form, and I nodded.

“Of course, Spock. Anything you need,” I promised, and I meant it. Surely he knew I would do anything for him. He drew another short, tight breath, eyes never opening.

“Thank you, Captain.”

I nodded, but did not take my leave. Spock was having some sort of nervous breakdown, or maybe he was finally feeling the effects of the past few years of stress for what they really were. Perhaps he was rethinking our relationship as it stood.

“Spock--”

“Captain,” he interrupted rudely, “I really am in no condition to have any sort of conversation with you at this time.” His voice came out almost pained, and I threw logic out the window and knelt in front of him.

“Spock, please, just let me help--”

“I cannot speak of it!” he cried suddenly, eyes snapping open as he lurched back from my touch, and we both froze that way as he begged me with his eyes to allow his silence. I could not comply.

“I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s going on,” I murmured, sidling closer like you would to a frightened and wounded animal. He actually flinched when I brushed my hand against his arm, but when his eyes flashed up to mine they were startlingly intense. His hand snapped up to catch my wrist, and we stayed that way for a moment before his dark eyes slid down to my fingers that stretched inches from him. I was reminded of a panther observing a particularly tasty bit of prey, and that made me a little uncomfortable and a lot turned on.

His other hand came up to touch my palm with butterfly fingertips, spreading my fingers so they lay directly against his pale, long ones. My skin buzzed pleasantly, and he took his index and middle fingers and stroked down the insides of my adjacent digits. The buzz became a burn, still pleasant but creating interesting effects on my heartbeat. I swallowed, inhaling a little too loudly, and those eyes glanced at me quickly again.

“Spock,” I murmured, and he suddenly clutched my hand in a deathgrip and yanked me towards him, his other arm winding around me tightly. I admit I gasped sharply, and when I ended up straddling his lap with his hand on my hip and his lips at my throat I reeled in startled excitement.

“Jim,” he mimicked my low tone, and his murmur in my ear shot straight to my arousal. I tangled a hand in his hair and kissed him, a culmination of every tiny peck and embrace he had granted me prior. He tilted his head and I delighted in the slight parting of his lips, allowing me entry to explore his mouth. He was hot to the touch, which seemed unusual, and his tongue felt rough as it sparred with mine.

I pulled at his shirt and he broke our connected lips and fingers, allowing me to strip it over his head. His pale skin seemed more green hued than usual, flushed perhaps, and I yelped in surprise as he pitched forward abruptly, all but tackling me to the floor.

“Jim...be one with me,” he practically growled to me, and if he had been anyone else I might have been afraid of the pools of black his eyes had become. But the pent-up tension between us urged me onward and I wound my arms around his neck.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He tore the fabric from my body as if it were tissue paper, tossing it aside and pulling me to him, as if he were desperate to feel the touch of skin. We kissed, touched, tasted, feeling every part of one another which had never been explored. He took me--I took him. It did not matter who was inside the other; it was an act of trust as we set aside our pride and gave ourselves entirely unto the other. It was an equalizing experience, tinted with the red and green of blood and the darkness of a startlingly primal nature which I had never seen in Spock.

It was exhilarating, satisfying, and a little bit frightening. He hardly spoke; there were no words in the place in which he resided, and when the madness had finally subsided we lay in a heap of sweat and breath, tangled amongst the sheets of his bed where we had moved sometime during our passions.

“Captain...” he murmured after a long while of stillness, and I turned slowly, painfully to face him. The Vulcan race sported near herculean stamina that, even with my impressive endurance, had left what might be some embarrassing bruises.

“Yes Spock?” I replied, brushing a finger down the curve of his ear. He shivered gently at the touch, dark eyes avoiding mine. Whatever insanity had gripped him, it seemed to have passed, and his cheeks were slightly dark with embarrassment.

“I must sincerely apologize for my conduct in this matter--I...am not myself,” he said carefully, withdrawing slightly from my touch, and I frowned curiously.

“I can see that, Mr. Spock,” I glanced pointedly down at the purpling marks on my hips and the scratches on my shoulders, and his ears colored vividly.

“I am sorry, Jim,” he moved to get out of bed, and I caught his arm, urging him back down beside me.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” I assured, and he ran assessing fingers over the more vibrant of my wounds. “I just meant you were more...uninhibited than usual.”

“Indeed,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “That would be an understatement of my current status.”

“And what is that current status, exactly?” I asked, and he actually settled further into the blankets, his fingers still tracing over my skin.

“It is...to do with Biology sir.”

“Biology? What kind of Biology?”

“...Vulcan Biology.”

I frowned at his evasiveness, settling to be eye to eye with my Vulcan. He seemed supremely embarrassed both with his actions and whatever this strange Vulcan biological issue was.

“Biology...you mean...” I contemplated his almost animal conquering of his Captain and raised my eyebrows in a Spockian gesture of realization. “Reproduction?”

He stiffened, but he had nothing to hide from me at this point except what his Vulcan philosophies dictated he refrain, but I saw him contemplating how much he should tell me.

“It...is called Pon Farr,” he began to explain the Vulcan’s need, every seven years, to return home to Vulcan to mate. However, since the destruction of their homeplanet, the practice had changed out of necessity.

“My betrothed was killed in the destruction of Vulcan. I...did not know exactly what it was I would do when this time came...Thank you...for coming to my aid.” His words stumbled a bit, which I found surprising, and he almost nestled closer in his insecurity. I wound my arms around him, pulling him close. He hesitated for a moment before his long arms came up to wrap around my back, resting between my shoulder blades, and he rested his face against my neck. It was a moment of weakness--he was trusting me with his nature, his body, his heart. I rested my cheek against his forehead, promising silently that I would never abuse that right.

“If you’ll have me, I’ll come to your aid every Pan...For...um, Pun Fire...”

“Pon Farr,” he corrected, and I nodded, nuzzling him affectionately.

“Right. Pon Farr. And any other time you need me,” I added as a soft afterthought, and he lifted his eyes to me. He seemed mildly befuddled by this comment.

"You would come at any call I would give?” he asked, and I looked into his thoughtful eyes and kissed the tip of his nose. This action seemed to startle him, and I chuckled.

“Of course.”

“Why?”

I sighed, shaking my head and threading our fingers together.

“You’ll understand when we’re older.”

~

 

 


	9. Blue Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because why the HELL are Kirk's eyes blue in the new adaptation?

Kirk rang the chime for entrance to Spock’s quarters, raring for a game of chess. The Enterprise had been running nothing but boring scouting missions for the last three weeks and he was getting agitated. He needed to work his brain somehow, so here he was waiting outside his First Officer’s room with his lucky White King in hand. Spock had his own 3D chessboard of course, but Kirk just never seemed to win when playing with Spock’s King.

The door whooshed open and he swaggered in, halfway into a challenge to chess, when he realized his Vulcan Officer was sitting at the monitor on his desk and speaking earnestly with a familiar face.

“Spock! It’s nice to see you!” Kirk crowed, causing two identical pairs of dark eyes to turn to him with identical raised eyebrows.

“I am pleased by your presence as well, Jim,” the old man said, eyes warm and fond, and Spock the younger flicked his eyes towards the seat at the end of his desk to indicate Jim should sit, and that they would begin their game momentarily.

“I will send a request to Starfleet for a stricter defense regiment when delivering supplies to the colony,” the First Officer assured, and the Ambassador nodded thankfully. However Jim proved to be too much of a distraction and was soon called over to the screen.

“How are things down on New Vulcan?” he asked, starting up casual conversation, and they chatted about the Colony, the school system which Spock had been almost single handedly reconstructing, Sarek, Jim’s family which the elder Spock knew a startling amount about, the status of the Enterprise. Spock Prime’s expression would occasionally become clouded by what looked like confusion before clearing again, but Jim couldn’t shake the feeling that he was causing it.

“Is everything alright, Ambassador?” he finally asked, and Spock the elder raised both eyebrows innocently.

“Of course Jim. What would indicate otherwise?”

Kirk sighed in frustration--some things never changed apparently, and Spock’s aversion to admitting to an emotional slip was one of those things.

“Is something on my face? You seem discontent about something,” he urged, and younger Spock--who had been almost completely moved from the frame and was now absently arranging the chessboard for a game--looked over sharply.

Spock Prime shook his head. “Not discontent. Merely...surprise. Your eyes,” he explained, and Kirk frowned in alarm. Was there something wrong with them?

“It would be advised that you elaborate upon that statement, Ambassador,” younger Spock commented, and his elder self complied.

“They are not as I remember. Your eyes were always brown in my memories,” he explained, and Kirk blinked, suddenly self-conscious of his eye color of all things.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I’ve always had blue eyes...I mean I didn’t get color corrective surgery or anything...” he fumbled, and his First Officer joined him by the screen, seeming contemplative.

“A child develops eye color as they age, within the first few years of their life. Perhaps some extraneous circumstances had an affect on this development.”

“The excessive amount of temporal disturbance and unusual radiation at the location of his birth could have had an impact on the melanin production...”

“I don’t know if that’s--”

“And the unstable nature of his young life may have caused his body to divert attention to other functions, leaving less time or energy for the collection of said melanin.”

“Guys, I’m right here.”

“The change, however, is not an aesthetically displeasing one.”

“I agree with this diagnosis.”

“Hey!” The Vulcans ceased in their analysis, turning matching dark eyes on the subject of their conversation. He was mildly flushed, and the rosy quality his human blood brought to this normal function brought a softness to both their eyes.

“We apologize,” Younger Spock allowed, the elder adding, “We did not intend to tease.”

“Like hell you didn’t. Now why don’t you get back to whatever it is Vulcan Colony Builders do, and you sit down and play a game of Chess with me,” he ordered, pointing to each Spock in turn. The Ambassador smiled and bid them goodbye, and his First Officer moved towards him and the ready chessboard.

As he passed he paused, resting a hand on Jim’s shoulder and pressing the softest of kisses to one of Jim’s closed eyelids before sitting down across from him to play. Jim wondered if such displays could be constituted as cheating.

He never stood a chance.

 

 


	10. Disappointment

“Can I take your order, sir?”

The handsome young man looked up from his menu, blinking bright blue eyes at the shapely waitress standing there. His eyes barely breezed over her and he shook his head with a smile, glancing at the window.

“Not yet, thanks. I’m still deciding,” he replied easily, and she shrugged and left him be. In fact, this was the second waitress who had approached the dashing patron curiously. He had been sitting here in Eon, the nicest restaurant on this side of the system, for nearly thirty minutes alone, ordering only a glass of Andorian Wine for himself and a glass of water that sat condensating across from him, untouched.

The waitress, a human named Alicia, sidled up to one of her fellow waitresses with a pout.

“You’re right. He didn’t even look at me. And he’s just been sitting there this whole time! What’s wrong with this guy?”

Faren, an Aaamazzarite, shook her head. “You know, he’s got to be waiting for someone. He’s got that glow around him.”

The human squinted at the man dressed in simple Starfleet Blacks, wondering if her alien companion really could detect some sort of aura around him, but she saw nothing and folded her arms.

“I guess you’re probably right. He does keep looking at the window,” she conceded, and Faren nodded as she passed an order to the busboy.

“I hope he didn’t get stood up,” Alica added, eyeing the half empty glass he had been sipping at all evening, worried that the intense alcohol might begin to have an effect on him. If he had been dumped, would he start a scene?

No, he seemed serene, ankles folded under his chair as he swirled the deep green liquid in his glass, eyes moving over every face in the restaurant. Faren nodded decidedly.

“The glow...it is Pla’rentak in my language. You humans would call it Love,” she explained, and Alicia seemed disappointed.

“With our luck he’s going to propose to his girlfriend here tonight or something,” she muttered petulantly as she made her way to a table of somewhat rowdy Starfleet Crewmen who had bid her over.

The man waited there for another fifteen minutes alone, browsing the menu before finally ordering a Benzite Shrumka Steak and a Butternut Squash and Pear Ravioli with Rosemary Sauce. A meal for two, no doubt about it.

The host at the front of the restaurant was speaking with a guest, and he gestured in the direction of the young man. A slim, tall male with sleek black hair cut starkly across his forehead strode in the indicated heading, and when the young man looked up their eyes met across the crowded room as if drawn magnetically to each other.

Their greeting was odd to their two observers; the patient waiter stood up smoothly and quickly, eyes alight and face glowing with a smile. His companion, whose slanted brows and crested ears indicated a Vulcan heritage, exchanged some cool words with him, showing a tiny fraction of the affection afforded him by the human in his actions.

The two men sat down across from each other, already engaged entirely in one another’s presence. The Vulcan spoke, his low voice creating a rhythmic pattern as the human leaned his cheek on one fist, seemingly completely enthralled by whatever he was saying.

Alicia carried the ordered dishes over, sweeping inquisitive eyes down the Vulcan. He glanced up at her, thanking her for the food, but his human companion barely smiled. He couldn’t be bothered to divert his attention from this alien.

Alicia met Faren’s eyes and raised her eyebrows in a gesture of grudging surprise.

“Well he’s definitely on a date,” she conceded, but the young man looked so happy, he glowed so with the Pla’rentak, that the women couldn’t bring themselves to be disappointed.


	11. Here At the End of All Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during Star Trek 7: Generations

“The delegation will contemplate your offers. What would you give us in return for access to our Dilithium deposits?”

“By granting you access to the Federation, your world will receive protection, emergency aid, and many other positive perks that are awarded to Federation Members.”

“Sounds like a fair trade.”

“They just want the dilithium! They’ll mine us dry and then leave!”

“Sir, that diagnosis is based entirely upon mistrust and speculation. Vulcans do not lie; I have promised you fair treatment and a membership in the Federation. I have nothing left to offer.”

The group of diplomats squabbled and argued back and forth with what seemed like no end, and Spock, if he were inclined to such things, was beginning to grow weary of their petty arguments. Did the Melkot wish to join the Federation or didn’t they?

“I can see we have reached something of a standstill. Why don’t we reconvene tomorrow?” one of the Federation’s human ambassadors suggested, and there were murmurs of agreement throughout. The delegates rose and began milling about.

Spock stood as well, and paused as a sudden pain struck him. He frowned; heart trouble? He was really getting old, McCoy would never let him hear the end of it--

Another wave of pain washed over him, and he realized it was not only physical pain, but intense telepathic pain, a psychological agony the likes of which he had never experienced. He clutched his head, stumbling for a steadying hold and, finding none, collapsing to his knees.

“Ambassador!” The young Melkot who had been assigned to see to his needs rushed over, multi-prismed eyes wide with worry. “Ambassador, are you ill?”

Spock gasped raggedly, fighting the currents of anguish, trying to get back to his feet.

 _Jim. **Jim**_ , his mind cried, searching desperately for the other end of their bond, finding nothing but empty space and a broken thread.

“I need...quarters,” Spock managed, and the Melkot boy helped him to his feet. The journey to the ambassador’s cabin was slow and wavering, and by the time they reached the door the boy was sure Spock was dying.

“Are you sure you don’t need--”

“I am only ill. Please, leave me,” Spock barked, and the boy shrank from his anger and let the door close behind him.

Spock lurched to the communications panel, taking three attempts to contact Starfleet command. He clutched the sides of the panel, reeling.

This couldn’t be true. Jim was wasn’t ill, couldn’t have been careless enough to get into an accident, and for God’s sake he was retired.

“I need to speak with James Kirk,” he said as soon as a face popped up to receive his transmission. The young yeoman looked startled at the raw desperation in the Vulcan’s voice.

“Sir, Admiral Kirk is away at the moment.”

“Away where?”

“I...believe overseeing the Enterprise B’s maiden voyage.”

Spock closed his eyes, taking a calming breath. Surely he wasn’t. This was some sort of mistake. It had to be.

“Sir? Can I help you with anything else?” the yeoman asked gently, sensing the old man’s distress, and Spock shook his head.

“Please contact me--” the transmission blinked twice, indicating he had a second transmission coming through, and he cut out the yeoman’s concerned face to find the much older, wearier face of Leonard McCoy waiting.

“Oh...Spock. I thought you’d be in a meeting.” he sounded resigned, as if he had wished very much to avoid this conversation. He saw the devastation in Spock’s eyes and sighed.

“You already know, don’t you.” Although phrased as such, it wasn’t really a question. Spock gripped the sides of the panel hard enough that the metal and plastic buckled under the pressure, despair and grief and rage thundering through him. No wonder Vulcans undertook Kolinahr to purge emotion--this was too much for any mortal man to handle.

“How?”

“Spock, I’m so--”

“ _How_ , Doctor?”

Bones sighed again, a world weary sound that indicated he would prefer not to be in it much longer. “The Enterprise B’s maiden voyage. We ran into trouble; she wasn’t properly outfitted yet. Jim...he went down to engineering, fiddling with the power circuits or something I suppose. He saved the whole ship and a vessel of El-Aurian refugees of course.”

“You were not with him,” Spock interjected, and Bones looked startled before a pained look came over his lined face.

“No, Spock. Neither of us were.”

The Vulcan hadn’t realized he had stood until the clattering of the chair flying over alerted him to the fact, and he clenched his hands, warring with the emotional discharge of a broken lifebond. He understood now why some Vulcans went insane when their bondmate died.

“He didn’t suffer, Spock. Just jettisoned into space. If he had to go...I suppose he’d want it some way like this. He saved dozens of lives. He’ll be in space forever. How else would Jim Kirk go out?”

“That is not a relevant point, Doctor,” Spock snapped, and normally Bones would have bristled but he just looked sad. “He is dead. Jim...Jim is dead.”

He leaned on the console, forehead pressed against cool metal and eyes closed. He would not cry...but why not? He had lost his t’hy’la, his bondmate, the only one who had ever cared for him so deeply that he could change entire worlds for him, move mountains, rattle stars.

A tear tracked down his cheek, the acceptable expression of grief for the loss of a loved one, but the single tear was followed quickly by more, and he collapsed in on himself, burying his face in his arms and weeping.

Jim was dead.

 

 


	12. Bones' Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones is entirely too paranoid

Dr. Leonard McCoy wandered down the hall of D deck grumbling softly to himself, going over some data on a PADD in his hand as he made his way to the Captain’s Quarters. Jim had avoided the mandatory sickbay check-in after a landing party mishap which sent the crew on a wild adventure on some Godforsaken rock at the edge of the galaxy--again--so Bones had taken it upon himself to make a house call. He was such a good friend.

As he approached his friend’s cabin, he realized the door across the hall was propped open, and a wind of hot dry air coasted down the hall from what could only be a Vulcan’s quarters. Bones growled under his throat and approached, feeling in his gut that Jim was probably playing Chess or something with their Science Officer again and therefore Bones would have to deal with one of his least favorite crewmen, Commander Spock.

“Nngh...this is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

“Not if we are cautious, Captain.”

Bones paused as he heard some sort of conversation emanating from the depths of the First Officer’s room and scowled. He was not in the mood for any dealings with either of them, much less the both of them. However he stepped up to the door, lifting a hand to ring the chime.

“You know how to do it, right?”

“This is not my first time, if that is what you wish to know, Captain.”

“Great. Comforting. Just...pop it in quickly, alright?”

“I assure you, insertion is quick and painful for only a few moments.”

The Good Doctor froze in his tracks as the words became audible. Surely they weren’t...I mean, Jim and Spock? Vulcans were so strange about sexual intercourse, surely they couldn’t be...he moved just inside the door, eyes wide as he listened.

“Ah! Warn a man before you just shove it in, Spock!”

“I apologize...I was under the impression you were prepared.”

“It’s a large object to force into a small hole, Spock, it’s going to hurt no matter how well prepared I am--”

Bones turned away with a howl of horror, covering his ears. The sounds within fell silent at his string of curses as he retreated, and he had barely gotten out the door before two shadows fell upon his own.

“Bones? What are you doing here?” Kirk asked, and the Doctor turned around grudgingly to find both his commanding officers standing there looking...not at all abashed. Confused in fact, and almost entirely dressed. Jim was the only one in any kind of state of undress, and his shirt was only missing because his right arm had been placed in a sling.

“I came to check on you...what, ah...what exactly were you two doing?” Bones asked, cursing himself even as the question fled his lips. He didn’t want to know--GOD he didn’t want to know.

“The Captain had injured himself and did not wish to be given the lecture he is sure to receive anyway about the dangers of a dislocated shoulder. I rectified this problem by relocating the injured limb myself," Spock answered coolly, and Jim winced as he rested a hand on the wounded joint. Bones looked between them, and the Captain flinched preemptively as he prepared for the verbal lashing he was doubtless about to receive.

     "You were...resetting his shoulder?" The doctor verified, and the Vulcan nodded curtly.

     "And...that's all you were doing?" Bones sounded oddly apprehensive, and Jim raised an eyebrow and grinned.

     "You sound disappointed, Doctor," he teased, and Bones actually laughed as a wave of relief rushed over him.

    "Just glad I misheard you for once, Jim."

     "What was that Bones?"

     "Nothing, Jim. Now let me see that shoulder of yours."

 

 


	13. Bones' Blunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is he too paranoid? Or are these two just trying to give him a heart attack?

On his way to his quarters on D Deck, Doctor Leonard McCoy made a rather ineffectual blunder. He decided that, since he was finished with his shift for the evening and his dear friend James T. Kirk was also currently on break, he would go and invite the young Captain for a drink.

As he approached the Captain’s Quarters, he pressed the chime for the door, glancing at the time piece on his communicator. Hm...maybe it was a little late for a drink.

The door slid open and he stepped into Jim’s unusually warm cabin.

“Hm...quite the dominant possessive, aren’t you Spock?”

“On the contrary, Captain, I feel no such emotions. I simply prefer to be...in charge of the situation.”

“Well I’ve got to admit, it’s kind of surprising. I didn’t expect you to rise to the challenge like that.”

Bones froze. The hell? Jim and Spock’s private lives were of no interest to him, and if he had walked in on something nasty--

“God, Spock!” Jim suddenly exclaimed, sending blood rushing to Bones’ ears and down from his head. Sweet baby Jesus and his lovely mother Mary, he was not going to deal with this!

“I needed that Bishop you know!”

...what? Bones stepped cautiously into the room to find Jim sprawled petulantly in a chair across a chess-cluttered table from Spock, who had a slightly smug expression on his face. Well, as close to an expression as the Vulcan came.

“Oh, there you are Bones. What did you need?” Jim asked, still scrutinizing the chessboard, and McCoy glanced between them silently for a moment as images he definitely didn’t want or need danced through his head before he scrunched his eyes closed, rubbing them wearily.

“Nothing Jim. Just...nothing.”

 

 


	14. Bones' Unfortunate Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're definitely trying to give him a stroke.

Although Dr. Leonard McCoy did not often have reason to visit the recreation rooms on Deck F, that evening he found himself free of any duties as the Chief Medical Officer and had wandered into Rec Room 4. It was mostly deserted, and he settled himself at a corner table for a game of solitaire. The room’s only other inhabitants, Sulu and Chekov, were deeply engaged in a thrilling game of Andorian Checkers, and the Russian suddenly gave a cry of fury and threw something at the Asian, initiating an argument which continued all the way out the door and down the hall. Bones shook his head--damn youngsters causing a hell of a lot of unnecessary hubbub.

In the silence that settled, a soft voice drifted to Bones’ ears from a nearby side room, a padded arena used for sparring, sports and other activities. He frowned--a man couldn’t find a moment of silence anywhere on this goddamn ship.

“Like this, Spock?”

“The legs should be spread slightly. Yes, that is correct.”

“Feels kind of unnatural.”

“Practice assuages any feelings of discomfort Captain.”

Bones narrowed his eyes suspiciously. This was the third god-forsaken time he had overheard the Captain and the First Officer having...compromising conversations. He had no reason to jump to any conclusions.

“The hips and spine must be properly aligned to facilitate a smooth connection.”

“Hm...it’s still not working for me, Spock. It’s just not comfortable.”

“Very well. There are many other positions which can be experimented with in order to discover which proves the most efficient.”

McCoy rubbed his eyes. How could he take that innocuously? No matter his past experiences, he felt a blush rising to his face.

“Show me how you like to do it.”

“That is an ideal request Captain. I will endeavor to properly instruct you in the ancient ways of my people."

“Ohhh, that’s a much better position. Why didn’t you just show me in the first place?”

“Now place your hands like this--”

“Gotcha.”

“...Jim, just because you achieve a proper stance does not mean you will have successful--”

Spock broke off because Bones had made quite a racket in the rec lounge as he made for the door, knocking over a table in his haste. He just didn’t care anymore, he really just didn’t want to know.

“Bones?”

He turned back with a wince to see Jim standing in the doorway looking curious. “What are you doing in the rec room? I thought you hated them,” the Captain pointed out, and the CMO growled under his breath.

“Well I came for some peace and quiet! Not to interrupt...whatever it is you two do in your free time,” he snapped, and Spock appeared at Jim’s shoulder, eyebrow raised.

“You only disturbed Jim in the process of learning correct meditation techniques,” he said dryly, and Bones was torn between the desire to laugh and to throw something.

“Well you two have a horrible habit of poorly choosing words! You’re gonna give a man a goddamn heart attack!” he shouted, and Jim snickered before looking confused.

“What kinds of poorly chosen words, Bones?”

The CMO shook his head, feeling an ulcer coming on.

“Nothing Jim.”

 

 


End file.
